Tortured
by Mrs. James Harold Potter
Summary: Police officer. Gun. Guns of Brixton. The Clash. Rory. She follows me everywhere, no matter where I go. California isn’t safe for me. Neither is New York, or anywhere else I had thought to go. Only with Rory can I truly be safe from this curse. Lit. R/R.


Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls

Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls. ASP and DP do. I'd attempt to make this wittier, but I'm just getting this part out of the way, because inspiration comes and goes.

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm writing this for a contest on The Muse Bunny. The prompt word was 'tortured'. So tell me what you think, and if you like this, check out my other story, ****Exchanges on a Rainy Afternoon****! And review! This is a little after Rory tells Jess that their relationship is over and that she's not pining in "Those Are Strings Pinocchio." Enjoy!**

Tortured

Rory.

Police officer. Gun. Guns of Brixton. The Clash. Rory.

Farewell to Arms. Ernest Hemingway. Painful author for some. Rory.

Ocean. Water. Blue. Eyes. Rory.

She follows me everywhere, no matter where I go. California isn't safe for me. Neither is New York, or anywhere else I had thought to go. Only with Rory can I truly be safe from this curse.

Damnit, I really screwed up this time. I take another drag of the cigarette, ignoring the fact that even this simple action takes me back to days when life wasn't as much of a burden. Ignoring the fact that even cigarettes remind me of Rory.

"_You gonna smoke that or mind meld with it?" _The voice brought me back to that night in Star's Hallow. I still could remember the way she tasted; of coffee and something sweet. The way her eyes and voice were glittered with happiness. And as much as it pains me to think that I could be glittered with anything—I think mine were too.

This was becoming pointless. My being here without a real purpose and everything. There was nothing I wanted more right now than to go back. But I couldn't go back. How could I go back and face Rory? Face her, and look into those eyes—those beautiful eyes—and tell her that I let her down? Tell her that I couldn't graduate, even though she had put so much faith and trust in the fact that I could? Tell her that I couldn't get her the prom tickets that she had been counting on me to get? I couldn't. I wasn't good enough.

And even if I was—Luke didn't want me back. I made yet another promise that I was destined to break. My heart was lifted a little as I passed a telephone booth. I promised her I would call. Maybe we could talk it out…

I dialed the number that had been engraved deeply inside the walls of my brain. "Hello?" her voice answered, as bright as I remembered it. Then I realized the explanation I owed her. I hung up.

Only seconds later, my fingers managed to re-dial the number. This time, I had to say something. This time, however, Rory had a pretty good idea of who it was. "Jess, is that you? Jess, I'm pretty sure it's you and I'm pretty sure you've been calling and not saying anything but wanna say something. "Hello? You're not going to talk? Fine, I'll talk. You didn't handle things right at all. You could've talked to me. You could've told me that you were having trouble in school and weren't going to graduate, and that your dad had been there, but you didn't. And you ended up not taking me to my prom and not coming to my graduation and leaving again without saying goodbye again, and that's fine, I get it, but that's it for me. I'm going to Europe tomorrow and I'm going to Yale and I'm moving on. And I'm not going to pine. I hope you didn't think I was going to pine, okay? I think. . .I think I may have loved you, but I just need to let it go. So, that's it, I guess. Um, I hope you're good. I want you to be good, and, um, okay, so, goodbye. That word sounds really lame and stupid right now, but there it is. Goodbye."

I mentally slapped myself for not saying anything once again. Millions of needles pricked my skin as she spoke. She _loved _me. And I loved her…But I knew that calling her back wouldn't do anything. She wouldn't pick up this time.

I pressed my head against the cold metal of the telephone booth. This was torture. Rory was out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. It seemed like she never would be. As long as I still had my senses—everything around me would constantly remind me of her. A fucking tortured, good for nothing person. That's all I was.

With an invisible knife plunging into my chest, I realized something as I walked back towards Jimmy's house.

Telephone booth. Telephone. Call. Rory.


End file.
